


Names

by Ailette



Category: Inkheart (movie), Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke
Genre: Imported, M/M, Set after the movie, you can see the ship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-18
Updated: 2009-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything is back to normal, Mo finds himself wondering what is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names

Something was wrong, Mortimer decided. He was comfortably sitting in the big rocking chair in the living room, Meggie and Resa snuggled up on the couch together, reading _The Lost Years of Merlin_ and quietly giggling every now and then. This was everything he had wished for, everything he had fought for over the last nine years. And yet… when he watched his loved ones sitting there, knowing Farid and Gwin to be somewhere in the back of the house, his heart ached. It wasn’t just now, it was a recurring feeling. He couldn’t pin point the exact moments, but he was fairly certain that he knew what he was missing.

 _Fire_ .

Dustfinger. A character, no, a _man_ , ripped from the pages of a book, his _life_ , and brought to Mo’s without either of them ever having asked for something like this to happen. The man had been a nuisance most of the time, always being the bringer of bad news, whether he did it knowingly or not. But somehow, Mo had grown used to the fire-eater over the years, but especially these past few weeks. Dustfinger came with danger, the sense of adventure and a different life, a different name even for Mo.

_Silvertongue.  
_

Dustfinger had never called him by his real name (was it even his real name? Or just the name for the part he was playing here, in the safety of his own house? It didn’t feel right to be called Silvertongue when it didn’t come from Dustfinger, but neither did it feel right anymore when his wife called him Mortimer). But the lonely stranger was gone now, back to a world with fairies and nymphs, where the fire was his friend and not just an unwilling aide at times. Mortimer himself had sent him back where he belonged; shouldn’t he feel happy for the other man? He did. It was what made Dustfinger happy, he had been so obviously lost and wrong in this world, everything moving too fast and lights shining too bright for him; it should have pained everyone just to look in his eyes.

_Now there was nothing left to look at.  
_

It happened so easily to mistake one person for another. Running across the street, you’d greet a complete stranger, expecting him to be a good friend and laughingly apologize when you realize your mistake. Such a mistake could never happen with Dustfinger. He was unique. Not just his too long hair, the unusual clothes or the three scars across his face. Not even the mysterious smell of fire that always surrounded him—the smell of a crackling, burning fire; never the dull smell of ashes. Mo would leave antique bookshops, still hearing the whispering of books behind him, but the excitement would always be gone. There was no chance that when he stepped out of the door, Dustfinger would be standing in front of him, horned marten on his shoulders, eyes nervously glancing around before they eventually settled on Silvertongue’s form and Mortimer liked to think that he always saw Dustfinger relax in those precise moments; eyes calm for a few seconds, as if Mo’s mere presence made the world a better place for him. He’d always loved that narcissistic feeling, even if it had been so short-lived and quickly replaced by a more urgent emotion, feeling his instincts of fight or flight coming on.

_But Dustfinger was gone.  
_

It seemed inexplicable, but the thought was stuck in Mortimer’s mind. Solid knowledge that the struggling man would never again lurk in the shadows, watching him and waiting for the perfect moment to step out into the light and speak to him made his life so much less enjoyable. It wasn’t right that he still didn’t feel entirely happy after his life had been so mirthfully restored to what it should have been all along. But it was there, undeniably; in the whole wide world, no one to replace that one strange man or even just the illusion of his still being there. Mortimer would never understand it if someone could mistake a different person on the streets to be the street performer.

_But then again, Dustfinger had always been special to Silvertongue._

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/34483.html)  
> Beta: As always, thanks to the wonderful freakydarling !  
> A/N: I wrote this a few days after I first saw the movie (in December). I'm not too happy with it and it's very short, but... *frowns* I guess it won't hurt to post it. Anyway. It's set after the movie(!) since I didn't feel confident enough to write something in the book!verse. :/ By now I have re-read Inkheart and have the other two here, but we'll see.


End file.
